Dark Days of Christmas
by Belle A Lestrange
Summary: Eighth Year fic. Draco is feeling isolated and suffering from bullying on his return to Hogwarts after the Wizarding War. Harry can't handle the nerve of the students and so takes matters into his own hands. He decides to share some of his past Christmas pain with the blonde, and maybe, they can each find some light through the darkness. However, is there the possibility for more?


Disclaimer: All characters of Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. I do not own anything other than the plot ideas.

Synopsis: Draco is having a difficult time adjusting to life after the war, especially now that he's returning for his eighth year to finish his schooling. Not many Slytherin's were coming back and the few who did return, shunned him. He was an outcast. For months Harry watches as the blonde gradually breaks down. He decides to take matters into his own hands to show Draco mercy and that Christmas can still be magical no matter who you're spending it with.

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><p><strong>Dark Days of Christmas<strong>

**By**

**Belle A Lestrange**

To say that he was surprised to arrive at Hogsmeade station in one piece, would have been an understatement for Draco Malfoy as the train rattled to a stop, plumes of white vapour streaming past his window.

He had spent the journey on his own, in his own little compartment which would have been a luxury in the past, but now it only left him feeling cold and wracked with nerves of what was to come. He had returned to Hogwarts, despite his parents' advice, in good faith that maybe there was some vague possibility that he would be able to eventually make something of himself in the future. That perhaps he hadn't screwed himself up entirely. He had kept himself updated with his private studies, reading in silence with silent tears pouring down his face as he read the Prophets articles about how lowly his family had become on the social ladder and the obituary of his godfather and -at times -dear friend, Severus Snape. That afternoon had been one of the hardest for him. He had cried for hours.

A small part of him had wanted to return to Hogwarts to see as to whether or not the death threats he had been receiving would follow him. He knew they would, but he hoped that the new wards at Hogwarts would prevent that humiliation. He didn't need the whole school hearing the foul language some of those witches and wizards spewed.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose and stood up, adjusting his robes before grabbing his briefcase from the trunk rack and departing from the train.

He strayed back from everyone else on the way to the carriages; it chipped away at his heart at the amount of students who could now see the Thestrals and were in awe at staring up at them. He turned away from them, not wanting to look at them. As he moved along the line of carriages people turned their heads away and whispered in hushed voices. Eventually he had to surrender himself to getting into a carriage with a bunch of third years that, thankfully, ignored him for the entire journey up to the castle.

The whispers followed him through the Entrance Hall and into the Great Hall as he moved over to the Slytherin's table where very few of his classmates from previous years now sat. Not that it mattered. He could have been invisible at that table for all the attention anyone paid him. Despite the other Slytherin's being shunned for what had happened during the war and -in general -for being a Slytherin at all, they still managed to give the illusion that they had standards.

He was now the lowest of the low; an outcast among the outcasts.

He did his utmost best to ignore the catcalls from the other houses when they welcomed their new members. He tried not to let his eyes run over the Golden Trio sitting there, looking a little haggard at best, but still together and sharing in everyone else's enjoyment. He hated how easy it was for them, even the weaslette was getting it easy, being the hero-worshiper she blatantly was, was lapping up the attention that rebounded off of her brother and Potter and onto her.

It was sickening.

Thankfully, the Sorting Ceremony was over rather quickly, welcoming the old and new students back and introducing Professor McGonagall as the headmistress, Slughorn had returned to teach potions and there was now a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who he couldn't be bothered remembering the name of. When the good appeared he picked at it and sipped at his pumpkin juice but barely ate anything. He was emotionally starved but his appetite for food had diminished almost entirely.

He was almost grateful to skulk down to the dungeons after dessert -not that he ate any -and seclude himself within the thick green curtains hanging around his bed. He curled up in his pyjamas and cast warming charms on the blankets and pillows, his feet already turning paler with the cold, and cast silencing charms on the curtains. As he curled up on his side and burrowed under the blankets, his eyes wide open he couldn't disregard the chill and hushed whispers that greeted him when his dorm-mates entered for bed a few hours later. He didn't listen to them and he was grateful for the silencing charms he'd put up. At least none of them would get disturbed from his nightmares.

Several months on and he was still having nightmares of that red-eyed monster.

No wonder his father had finally agreed to let him go back to Hogwarts.

~0~

It wasn't until a month later that Harry Potter had had just about enough of ignoring the niggling feeling at the back of his mind. He kept his eye on Draco Malfoy, a mild obsession Hermione had called it, and couldn't deny that something was going on. He couldn't deny that it would irrational of him to think that the pale blonde would be up to anything sinister, especially with how pathetically rough he'd been looking lately, but that didn't mean that nothing was going on. Admittedly, he had done pretty well; he hadn't been sneaking glances at the blonde too often, in class or in the corridors, and he hadn't been up during the night watching the marauders map to see if the Slytherin slunk off anywhere in the middle of the night. Especially as the few times he had done that, Draco literally didn't move from within the Slytherin boy dorms.

He couldn't deny that he was glad that it was Hermione who brought Malfoy up over lunch one afternoon. She had just returned from an Arithmancy lesson and the sound of her thick tome crashing onto the table was enough to make several people look up from their plates. "I can't believe how immature some people are being these days!" she snapped as she slipped into her chair and started forcefully loading food onto her plate.

"What happened?" Ginny asked from her seat opposite Harry. She had been trying to be discreet with her desire to talk to him but he really didn't need to have any conversations about the future. It was a sore subject for him and despite what she claimed; she really didn't understand why it made him feel physically sick to think of it.

"Those stupid _children_," she stressed the word, "were whispering behind his back and charming his ink well to spray all over his work and his shirt! They even spelled 'HEX ME' to weave into the wool of his jumper! It won't come off! I tried countering it for him but he just told me to leave it alone and stalked out of the lesson early. Honestly, I thought after what had happened everyone would be a little more mature about this."

Ginny furrowed her brow and Harry couldn't deny his interest was piqued as he lazily flicked through his Defence textbook whilst eating his food. "Who are you talking about, Hermione?"

"Draco," she stated, her dark eyes challenging Ginny to say something about it. Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing; he could tell that Ginny was desperate to sneer about the whole thing and how Malfoy deserved it. He'd heard the speech enough times in various tones, as had Hermione. "It's utterly ridiculous! He wasn't the only one here that day. I'm not saying people should be nice to him but just leave him alone if they're going to be ignorant about it all."

"Well they're not exactly being ignorant," Ginny stated mildly as she looked over at Harry for support. "I mean, he did do most of the things they're accusing him of."

"He also helped spare our lives," Hermione snapped out, "That should count for something!" without another word she stood up from the table and threw her book into her bag before slinging it over her shoulder and storming past Ron, who was coming in late from his lesson, and out of the Great Hall. Harry ushered Ginny to sit back down as he clambered out of his own seat.

"I'll go and talk to her," he stated, barely even looking at the red-haired girl as he hurried after Hermione. He gave Ron a reassuring smile and clap on the shoulder before jogging to keep up with Hermione. "Hermione!" he called out as he followed her out of the Entrance Hall and onto the lawns. "Hermione wait!"

With a heavy sigh she turned around, her arms folded across her chest, to look up at him, "I didn't mean to snap like that," she offered by way of an apology.

He nodded he head, "I know. I'm just a little surprised that something like this is getting to you."

She rolled her eyes, "Oh please. Like you haven't noticed." She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, I have. But I'm trying out that thing you've been telling me to do."

"What's that?"

"Grow up," he smiled as she huffed weakly beside him, her lips twitching slightly. He reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder, "I didn't think I'd see the day you felt sympathy for Malfoy, Hermione."

She hummed in response and then raked her fingers through her hair, "It's just so irritating. The war was meant to get rid of all of this. I know no one likes being forced to grow up, but we had to and they're still acting in this way over easy targets. It's barbaric."

"Not to mention that the teachers aren't doing anything about it. As far as they're concerned there might as well be no Slytherin's in the school right now," Harry muttered dryly as he fell into step beside Hermione as they wandered over towards the lake. "Try not to take it so hard," Harry found himself saying.

"I'm trying but sometimes I really wish I could just stun some of them, or spell their mouths shut," Hermione muttered, hanging her head and sighing deeply.

They walked in silence for a little while before they decided to settle down on the grassy banks and dig out their textbooks just to have something to do. They stayed that way for the rest of their lunch break, only moving and talking about nothing in particular when Ron eventually found them, having looked everywhere else, and joined them on the bank until the bells chimed out the five-minute warning for their next lesson.

~0~

Halloween blurred by with Draco being tormented though he tried to keep his head low and get on with his work as best as he could. Not that the teachers cared whether he did write spectacular assignments. He accepted whatever grades he could get that were high enough for most basic jobs in the Ministry. He would take the task of being a social climber if he really needed to, because at this point he was expecting nothing less from the wizarding world.

For days he had been awake all night and had debated on whether or not to go to the Room of Requirement. Not for anything in particular but just to see if anything remained. That moment had cinched the night for him, for the fear to spike. When he had watched Potter's broom turned around he had never felt so happy to see that scar-headed git's face, and probably never would again. It wasn't like all of that could be cast aside anyway. There was too much there for them to get past, not that he was even sure he wanted to. If the room had any magic left he wanted to use that magic to take him away for a little while, to a place where he didn't feel ashamed and didn't get people spitting onto the back of his robes or his shoes.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. No, he wouldn't go back to the room. He had enough trouble sleeping and trying to avoid panic attacks whenever he walked by a classroom his aunt had destroyed or through the courtyard where Fenrir had slain his fair share of innocent children. He didn't need the burnt ruins of the room adding to those nightmares.

The next day he couldn't deny it anymore. He was weak, as weak and pathetic as the Dark Lord always declared in front of his inner circle of followers. He was the weak link in the Malfoy chain and it had been his fault that they had fallen from his good graces. As insane as it all was coming from the flat lips of the snake-faced maniac, those words still haunted his mind now. He couldn't run from the worlds nor could he erase the imagery from behind his eyelids. It was all too much. Every shadow held a Dementor ready and waiting to suck what was left of his broken soul, every person's eyes would flash red for a brief moment. Their whispers were like the hissing of a thousand snakes ready to coil around him and suffocate him.

It was during the day before Halloween evening when it happened again, only this time is was in Potions class with the Gryffindor's. Once upon a time the lesson would have been trivial to him but it was one of the few rare things he still enjoyed since the war. Unfortunately, most of the eighth year lessons were inter-mixed with the seventh years so that meant he had to spend the double lesson in the morning watching the Weaslette making gooey eyes at Potter. To his credit, he didn't pay any more attention to her than he did to Dean Thomas, so it wasn't too bad. The only thing that would have made it that much more sickening was if Potter was reciprocating said gooey eyes.

He didn't even mind that he was paired with Potter for potions that morning. It had an odd sense of familiarity to it. He was grateful that Potter didn't try any small talk and didn't go out of his way to be sarcastic of snap whenever Potter did something wrong -which was only two times in the space of an hour. A new record, really. They still managed to tie with Granger and some seventh year named Buckley for the highest grade in the class. It should have made him happy, but the dementors that danced in the shadows sucked out the emotion before it could fully warm his heart. Instead, he nodded his head when Slughorn told them their grade, and was silently waiting for the bell to sound out for the end of the morning lessons.

He just needed to get out.

The bell rang and he was just about to stealthily make his way out ahead of most of the class when he felt something warm and wet rain down on him from behind. He turned around just to get another cloud of the grey soapy water used for scrubbing out cauldrons crash into him again. He coughed and spewed out the water that had surfed down his throat, and soaked his school shirt and trousers. As he rubbed the water out of his eyes he could hear the laughter bubbling up from everyone who had stopped to watch. He could feel his eyes and nose burn with the threat of tears. He wouldn't cry in front of them.

"Stop it!" he heard Granger shout at desperately, "Stop it all of you! Professor do something!"

He knew Slughorn wouldn't. None of the professors could be bothered with Death Eater scum like himself. The water clouded his vision and for that a part of him was grateful. "Come on Malfoy!" someone taunted, "Where's your precious Daddy now?"

Without a backwards glance, he turned and fled from the classroom.

When he was finally able to clear his vision he came to the conclusion that everything in the universe -including his feet -hated him. He had unwittingly guided himself to the Girls' bathroom. He crashed through the door and hurried over to the sink and raked his jumper and shirt off over his head before trying to rinse them out under the harsh spray of the cold tap. The tears were flowing freely now and it ate him up inside as his head burned and throbbed from the inside out. He sniffed loudly and gasped for air as he rang his shirt so hard it scrunched up into a tight little ball. He threw it at the sinks with all his force and staggered a little. He looked at the room, the memories, the ghost of his blood running down the drain and the anger swelled inside him.

He clawed his hands through his hair and struggled to keep the rage inside of how unfair it all was and how he wished he could take all of it back. He wanted a way out -any way -but there was nothing! Nothing but the torment and the torture and the nightmares. He just wanted to sleep, to get away from everything, to have just one moment of peace from the world tormenting him.

"AH!" he screamed out, his veins throbbing in his throat as he punched at his legs and chest and stomach. He wanted to feel something other than the crippling desire to curl into a ball and die there. "AHHHH!" he let out another scream, his entire body burning with shame, humiliation and overwhelming sensation that no one had cared enough to follow him.

No one cared about him.

As soon as the realization settled like an iron weight in his chest, he choked on a few strangled sobs before wrapping his arms tightly around him and bowing his head. He was cold and shaking and wished more than anything to be wrapped up warm. But he knew that if he even dreamed of venturing to go to the dorms early he'd be ridiculed even further for not being manly enough.

He shuddered and went to lean against the sink and rake his hands through his wet hair and scrub his face down with some clean, warm water and breathe a little easier. He tried to clear his throat but it was hard, not to mention how raw it felt after all his screaming. He wiped at his eyes and shivered as goosepimples appeared all over his naked, damp chest. He looked down at his shirt and frowned. He could just charm it dry but that would itch his skin and make everything even worse. He needed to get down to the dungeons and shower properly.

"Do you need a hand with that?" came a voice from the doorway.

He snapped his head up and mentally cursed his luck. He groaned and clenched his jaw tightly, "Stop trying to be a damned hero Potter. I get it. You won. No need to come and gloat."

"I didn't come to gloat," the brunette boy insisted before softening his voice, "Do you want a dry shirt?" he asked.

"I can dry my own shirt, thank you," he snapped, the bitterness seeping into every syllable. He turned his back to Potter and went about spelling the stupid garment dry, despite how rough it now felt under his fingertips.

"Malfoy just let me help," Potter stated in an exasperated manner. "You don't want to wear that. It's far too rough."

"Since when do you care about my skin, Potter?" he barked out, his voice hoarse from the screaming. Without waiting for a response Potter crossed the distance between them and tugged Draco's shirt out of his hands and threw it with a wet slap into the nearest sink. He then quickly tugged his own jumper over his head, unfastened the top two buttons of his soft, white shirt and pulled it over his head and held it out to Draco.

"There. This isn't charity, before you complain."

"Like fuck it isn't!"

Harry mentally counted to ten before forcing the shirt into Draco's stomach where, thankfully, his hands automatically came up to grab it. He reached over and swiped up Draco's shirt from the sink, flapped it open and charmed it dry, before slipping it on over his chest, squirming a little in discomfort. "I'll give it back when I can," he stated before pulling his grey jumper back on over his head and quickly leaving the bathroom.

Draco was left standing there, shivering and confused. He raised Potter's shirt to his cheek and felt how soft it was. He quickly slipped it on, revelling in the warmth still clinging to every stitch and shuddered. It was the closest he had gotten to a hug in months. He hugged his arms around his middle and bent his nose to inhale the scent on the collar before he snapped himself out of his musings, gathered his sodden jumper out of the sink before slipping out of the bathroom and heading towards the dungeons, replaying what had just happened over and over in his head.

~0~

It wasn't until later in the week one night as he lay in his bed with his heavily warded curtains shut tight around him, that Harry dug out the map from under his pillow and tapped the tip of his wand against the page, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," he recited in one breath, his heart beating a little faster. He studied the map for a while until his eyes came to rest on the small dot in the dungeons that was labelled 'DRACO MALFOY'. Like most nights before he'd stopped looking, the dot remained in the dungeons, not moving a millimetre. He was moments away from calling it a night -again -when the dot actually shifted and started to move. He watched it go along a series of corridors and then along the fifth floor, it suddenly disappeared. His heart rated spiked. He knew where Malfoy had gone but he still couldn't believe the blonde had the nerve to go there. He hadn't even braved the desolate room since the fire.

Pursing his lips he pocketed the map inside his muggle hoodie and quickly squeezed his feet into his trainers before grabbing his wand and left the Tower.

As he navigated the corridors, he replayed the conversation he'd had the other day at lunch time when he'd arrived late in the Great Hall after confronting Malfoy in the girls' bathroom. He had looked absolutely miserable and defeated. The look in his eyes had made him act on impulse and when he'd said this to his friends he was met with mixed responses; Hermione had stroked his hand and smiled, telling him that he was so much more grown up then she expected and that Malfoy needed a friend, or at the very least some compassion now that the war was over, Ron had forced himself to smile and returned to his food and Ginny and snorted at Hermione's statement, saying that people like Draco didn't deserve what they couldn't give others. She would have had a point, but then they had all been through a war and it changed people.

Harry was starting to see a bitter side of Ginny that he didn't really like. Not that it would have changed much between them if she hadn't been bitter. He sighed and blinked in surprise that he had come further than he'd thought.

Standing outside in the cold corridor and clenching his fingers into fists over and over, Harry looked up at the door with its charred frame and blackened wood. He was surprised some of the magic was still intact considering the cursed Fiendfyre that had disintegrated almost everything within. Drawing in a deep breath he turned the doorknob slowly, straining his ears for the sounds of rusted iron grating, or even that of approaching footsteps. There was nothing but the drumming of his own heartbeat. With a deep breath he pushed the door inwards and stepped inside.

He gasped when he saw the room. He didn't know what he had been expecting but whatever that illusion had been was now shattered; the walls had been charred down to their bare stone and despite the sheer size of the room, there was nothing comely or homey about it anymore. Most of the stone had scorch marks on it and there was barely any light except for the faint light coming from a fireplace off on one wall that spluttered out a feeble aura of warmth. He cast his eyes around the room, his breathing harsh to his own eyes until they landed on the dull blonde hair of Draco Malfoy's bent head. Despite expecting to see the blonde his breath still caught in his throat and he hesitated, not knowing what to do.

That's when he heard the soft sounds of the blonde boy sobbing.

"Malfoy?" he murmured, trying to catch the older boy's attention.

Malfoy spun around on his knees, his tear-stained red face contorted into one of anger at being caught in such a vulnerable manner. He gritted his teeth together and drew out his wand and aimed it right at Harry's heart. Harry whipped out his own wand and aimed it right back at Draco, although he forced himself to remember only protection spells. He took a step closer, noticing how much Draco was shaking now and how tired the boy looked. "I'm not here to fight you, Malfoy," he stated in a tight voice. He was trying his best to remain calm but Damnit if Malfoy didn't always make him feel like a little kid.

"Oh really Potter?" Malfoy spat, his voice rough and hoarse, no doubt, from crying. "Then why are you here? Stalking me again?" At Harry's pursed lips, he sneered, "Yeah, you _really_ weren't subtle in sixth year." His lips curled into a sneer as he adjusted his grip on his wand.

Harry swallowed thickly before sighing and gingerly placing his wand on the floor, the hairs on his neck standing up on end as he straightened up, Malfoy's glare and wand still aimed at him, burning through him, and making him flush. "I wasn't stalking you, Malfoy," he finally stated, his stomach flipping as the lie left his lips. "I couldn't sleep. How was I to know you'd be in here?" Malfoy clearly had no answer for that, so Harry drew in a deep breath and took a step closer. Malfoy's wand arm readjusted, the wand aiming at Harry's head now, "Malfoy ... Why were you crying?"

He watched Malfoy lower his wand, visibly shaken by the random question, but he quickly adjusted himself and sneered, "Like you give a fuck, Potter!" he spat out.

"If I didn't give a fuck, Malfoy, I wouldn't have asked!" Harry ground out in response.

They stood in silence for a while, the crackling of the fire the only sound to be heard. Eventually Malfoy lowered his wand, his glare losing some of its intensity as he turned back to walk over by the fireplace and settled down near it. "Whatever," he muttered darkly as he dropped his head forward into his hands and sighed heavily.

Harry watched him for several moments before edging a little further into the room and standing a few feet from where Malfoy was slumped over; he really did look utterly defeated, with his dishevelled hair that used to be so sleek and perfectly placed, and his pale skin that used to glow once upon a time now looked dishwater grey and taut over his bones. He looked like everything Malfoy would have hated to have been. "Malfoy ..." he started to say but there were no words to follow that single name, so he let it hang in the air. He swallowed thickly and turned on his heel to leave. There wasn't much else he could think of doing really.

With a glance over his shoulder, he gave a flick of his wand, and then closed the door behind him.

Draco jumped as the door shut and then almost leaped out of his skin when something warm and thick curled around his shoulders. He panted heavily as he slipped his fingers over the tassels that tickled them and shuddered, not realizing how cold he had become. The blanket had been charmed to warm him more than the fire ever good, and the room seemed to hum in appreciated as it didn't need to use as much magic to keep the fire high and roaring. Draco swallowed thickly, his eyes prickling with hot tears for a whole new reason. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and curled his legs beneath him, hunching over and sniffing loudly, "Thanks ... Potter."

~0~

December descended cold and brittle over the castle and cast a blanket of frost over everything beneath it. Draco spent most of his time indoors, looking out over the white world and wishing so badly that he really could turn into the 'ice prince of Slytherin' just so that he didn't have to feel the gnawing hatred from everyone, students and teachers alike, as they passed him by in the corridors or during classes -sometimes even during meals in the Great Hall. Ice would suit him perfectly, he wouldn't need to feel emotions or pain or the after-effects of curses and jinxes.

That was when he had started noticing some strange things happening, and he wasn't entirely sure if it was part of a prank or not. He still needed to decide how to approach it, if at all.

The first incident had happened on the third of December about two weeks after Potter had blatantly stalked him to the Room of Requirement. He hadn't been sleeping too well in the last couple of days and his shower had been jinxed to spray him with a strange sort of liquid that made him stink of burnt fish to the point he hadn't washed properly in several days. He'd used charms and glamour's and an old bottle of his father's after-shave to conceal the obviousness of it, but he hadn't done too well a job, it would seem.

He had received a small parcel in the post that morning. Clearly it wasn't dangerous otherwise it would have been diverted. Unless the system was getting slack, which he didn't doubt would happen eventually. He had opened the parcel and inside was a small slip of paper and a phial of scented body oil to be dabbed behind the ear before he went to sleep. When he unfolded the slip of paper he was amazed that written across it was the password to the prefects' bathroom. As insulted as he was, he couldn't deny that he wouldn't mind taking a long, quiet soak in the swimming pool-sized bath-tub. He was curious about the body oil too.

The bath had been heavenly and he hadn't felt cleaner than he did in that moment. As soon as he settled down behind his warded curtains in the dorms, he took out the oil and hesitated a while before dabbing a spot behind each ear and placing the corked bottle under his pillow.

He was sound asleep within minutes.

The following morning he had felt beyond well-rested and as though he hadn't a proper care in the world. It was hard to hide how his aura seemed to glow around him, but he just couldn't contain it. Over the rest of the day he tried to keep an eye out and see who was watching him. There was no one.

He tried to sleep without the oil but some days it became difficult. He used the prefect's bathroom a few other times in the space of ten days, a little excessive, but most times it was only the showers. In that time he had started feeling like he had a little more energy, a little more drive to go to classes and do the best he could.

On the sixteenth of December the second incident occurred; Draco had slept late and missed breakfast and missed lunch due to trying to catch up on his assignments and redoing a potions essay that he had all but demanded back from Slughorn so that he could redo it. He had practically finished it when he traipsed back to his dorms before realizing why it was so empty; everyone was in the Great Hall having their dinner. He'd groaned and rubbed his hand down his face and collapsed onto the bed and dozed off. When he woke up around forty odd minutes later he was so hungry he felt practically crippled with the hunger pains. He'd stumbled out to use the bathroom and when he came back he was stunned to find a plate of smoked ham and mustard sandwiches and some salmon and brie sandwiches stacked high and the mere sight of them made him salivate and dive for the meal.

As soon as the plate was polished off he found a little note stuck to the plate. He tilted his head in confusion before plucking it up and unfolding it and frowned at the words;

'_On the fourth day of Christmas my Uncle gave to me, a whole day with nothing to eat_.' He watched as the words danced and then vanished, before more words reappeared. '_I saw you missed every meal today, and it's not healthy. You need to eat properly. I hope the sandwiches were okay. I put both our favourites there, for some diversity. Hope you don't mind_.'

He let his hands fall to his lap and his body started to shake with tears, but they weren't of sadness, not really. It was the shock that anyone else had actually noticed just how ill he'd been making himself. It wasn't on purpose but if no one took him seriously then why the hell should he give a damn about his health? He slipped into his bed without changing out of his uniform and curled into his pillow, still sobbing dryly for a little while and trying to take deep breaths to calm himself enough to sleep. He reached out and placed a single spot behind his ear and was soon falling asleep, feeling relaxed, full and honestly ... touched.

Someone actually seemed to be looking out for him.

And for the first time in his life, he was grateful for it.

On the nineteenth of Christmas he had been tripped over on his way towards the Great Hall. Someone bound his legs together and he had to hop and shuffle everywhere for several hours. He looked and felt utterly ridiculous doing so and his cheeks burned with humiliation. It wasn't until he managed to trip over his own feet when his legs had miraculously managed to become unstuck. He looked around for anyone who was nearby, but no one was around that he could see. Frowning and fuming he hurried into the library and tried to bury himself in his work. Then when he felt a rush of warm air run around his ankles in the middle of the afternoon and frowned about him. Only a few students dotted the other work tables and they were all busy with their own work. When he dropped his attention back onto his book, he saw another little folded note.

'_On the thirteenth day of Christmas my cousins gave to me, a swollen wrist and dislocated knee_.' The words faded and then reappeared, much like the last one, '_I saw you hopping around and thought I could help. Hope you don't mind_.'

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end and he didn't know how he should feel. He felt violated at being so vulnerable and for clearly needing someone to look out for him, but he felt really unnerved and freaked out that someone was watching him so closely and carefully all the damned time. He would have been tempted to tell someone, but he knew that most of them would simply cluck their tongues and tell him that not everything was about him like he wanted it to be. He found his heart sinking as Severus flashed in his mind.

Severus would have been able to help him or at least talk him around into thinking it wasn't all that bad. Just someone messing about.

Not that it made the occurrences any better.

He found it strange and eerie and his palms got clammy just thinking about he. He honestly didn't know what he felt when he thought about it all. He just knew that he needed to confront whoever it was before it got out of hand and someone else other than himself found out about it all. He was no one's pet project.

The following morning before breakfast he found a neat little parcel wrapped and tucked under his pillow at some point during the night. It was soft and squished easily between his fingers. He gingerly opened the wrapping and he felt his stomach swirl with emotions. In his lap he was holding his shirt that had gotten damaged; it was soft and fresh, clean and hummed ever-so-softly of magic between his fingertips. Tucked into the breast pocket was a little note. He unfolded it and read the words scribbled onto it;

'_On the twentieth day of Christmas my Auntie gave to me, used clothes from my cousin, Big D_,' once again the words faded and a new little message reappeared. In the early morning light, Draco held his breath and waited for the next message to appear. '_I had a friend charm your shirt so that should anyone try and jinx you, it will repel it onto them. Thought you could feel safer with it._'

He let the note drift out of his hands and spiral down onto the floor. It was Potter. Potter had been doing all of this for him. He should have expected it truth be told but he hadn't and that should have made him feel pathetic.

He waited for the anger to cloud his mind over, but nothing happened. He waited and waited but the only thing that grew was the headache behind his eyes. Why couldn't he get angry about the whole thing? '_Because deep down you're glad that there's even someone out there who is looking out for you,_' chided the voice at the back of his head. He sneered at it to shut up but over-all he couldn't deny the jibe. He clenched his fingers into fists, ground his teeth together and then stood with a renewed resolve to head down to breakfast.

He would make Potter pay for this and this time, he was going to see it through.

~0~

Harry had silently promised Hermione via the owl she had sent him, which he wouldn't spend too long looking at the map that night, but there was a small part of himself that couldn't resist the temptation. Over the last month of so he and Hermione and Ron, on occasion, had helped him out to keeping the brunt of the student body away from Draco and a few of the other Slytherin's as well, but mostly Draco. He liked to make some time and keep a track of the blonde's movements and force himself to remember whether the blonde stayed in one place too long or if he didn't make it to the Great Hall for certain meals.

Hermione had been the one to help him charm the shirt after Ron had made the point about the fact that Harry couldn't be around the blonde all the time to protect him. That had given Harry an idea and after a week or so of searching in the library he had found a series of protective charms for garments that aurors would sometimes wear, and despite it taking another week to learn some of the basics, he was more than grateful to prepare a surprise Christmas get away for Ron and Hermione to Switzerland as repayment. He had kept the shirt for another two weeks for 'the right time'. He hoped that Draco was grateful. He had done his best to be discreet. He knew that humiliation was a stain that didn't wash off as easily as dirty dish-water.

He had managed the other small things on his own. The sandwiches had been easy and since it was for a descendant of 'the Noble house of Black', Kreacher had been more than happy to order the other house-elves around, not that they would have objected anyway. He was almost glad that Ron and Hermione had gone away that morning, so that they didn't see the stupid grin that spread over his face.

The dot labelled 'DRACO MALFOY' had been pacing back and forth across the dorm for a while, as the other Slytherin's slept peacefully, it would seem, but Draco's dot had appeared rather restless that evening.

When the dot moved away from the dungeons and towards the fifth floor again, Harry was out of bed and hurrying out of Gryffindor tower before he could think properly.

The door to the room appeared with a weak groan and this time he didn't feel much hesitation holding him back as he pushed the handle and entered. Nothing else had changed and the fireplace still stood as proudly as possible off to one side. Only this time, he didn't have much time to admire the room as he felt a strong force barrel into him and pin his body against the rough wood of the door. He gasped as something sharp was pressed into his throat and he felt a fist punch him in the stomach, forcing him to drop his wand. He winced as he heard the wood skitter across the flagstones, no doubt being kicked away. He gasped out and just about drew in a lungful of air before a sharp slap whipped across his face. He yelled out and gripped his hand to his face as the fuming blonde stepped away from him, wand still digging into the base of his throat.

"What the fuck was that for?" he shouted out, his anger rising out of him like a torrent of burning water.

"For fucking spying on me and making me your little charity case!" Draco sneered back.

"So what?" Harry countered, straightening up as best as he could. "Is it so bad for me to look out for you? Is it so bad for you to have someone giving you a help in hand once in a while?"

"It is when I don't need or ask for it!"

"You're too stubborn to ask for it!" Harry snapped back, "That's the whole point!"

"And those riddles, what were those, eh?"

"Those were some of my memories from when I was younger! I wanted to draw a comparison for you! This is the first Christmas without Voldemort's, the first without danger around every corner! I just wanted to show you that it can get better and there's no better time to start then now!"

They stared at one another and breathed in deeply, their chests heaving as they glared at one another. Harry felt his heart drumming in his chest increase as Draco's grip loosened on his shirt and he jerked his hand away as though he was being burned. He sneered and turned away from Harry and stalked back across the room, raking his hands roughly through his messy blonde hair and groaning, kicking his feet at the floor and groaning out loud before turning around and yelling loudly, "I can't fucking believe this!" he shouted at the room, his rough voice echoing out across the scorched stone walls. Harry watched as the blonde boy paced, his stomach tightly knotted and throbbing with pain. He didn't know how to approach him. He didn't know how to move without his stomach screaming out to him. "Why the fuck would you even care about what happens to me?!" Draco sneered out, his red-rimmed eyes burning with tears.

"I came back for you here, didn't I?" Harry rasped out, his throat husky from where the wand had jabbed into it. "I couldn't have left you here then, and I'm not leaving this room now. Not until we sort this all out!"

"There's nothing to sort out, Potter," Draco retorted darkly, his voice low as he held his wand between his fingertips. The firelight caught on his hair and skin and made him look a little softer around the edges of his sharp features and hunched shoulders. "Just go and stop bothering me, okay?"

Harry was so close to turning, swiping up his wand and walking out of the door and just leaving the blonde there to sulk. But as soon as his hands rested on the doorknob, he found that he didn't have the energy to feel so defeated anymore. He wasn't going to walk away from this. He turned around and silently crossed the room to where Draco stood. He stood a foot away from him and drew in a deep breath, "I had a pretty poor childhood with my muggle relatives, so much so that getting a full meal seemed like a miracle, let alone Christmas dinners. I didn't get much of any of that until my first Christmas here in first year. That really was magic and it took my breath away. It made all the tormenting of past years and the darkness from Voldemort's seemed quite small and meaningless." He heard the blonde snort and couldn't blame him. "That first Christmas brought to light the magic I'd always dreamed of and then it was real. It was so real, Draco," he breathed out and watched as the blonde shuddered gently in front of him, "I want you to see that magic. You deserve to see that kind of magic. Is there anything I can do to make you see it?"

They stood in silence for a little while before Draco spoke up, "Well there is something that might be able to help. If you're willing to help." He spoke low, and softly, his voice making Harry shiver with both relief and trepidation.

Harry's breath hitched when the blonde turned to face him, his face half-cast in shadow by the fire crackling in the grate. "I can try and help, if you're willing to accept it this time," his voice held a tight strain of challenge to it, but for the most part he was anxious to know how he could help the blonde.

"I'm more than willing," Draco breathed out in his deepening, raw voice. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end.

That's how he found himself half an hour later placing his wand on the mantelpiece above the fireplace and striding out several paces away from Draco before turning back to face him. He had a weak protection charm on his body that hummed gently over him, but he still felt fear bubbling up in his stomach as the blonde straightened up to fix him with a firm stare. There was no hatred in his eyes; just something so haunting that it left Harry breathless. "I've asked the room to help protect me as best it can, so as soon as you even think of an unforgivable or anything like that, you'll get reported."

Draco rolled his red-rimmed eyes but took up the duelling stance, so similar to the one he'd done in their second year. Harry was pummelled with a memory so gripping that he didn't realise Draco had cast a spell until it hit him and sent him flying backwards against the flagstones, knocking the wind out of him. He landed on his back and blinked up at the ceiling, gasping for breath before he felt his body being levitated and spun around in the air and slammed down onto the floor again.

"Holy fuck!" he gasped out as he rolled over onto his front, coughing and choking as he tried to get up onto his knees, "You could have warned me!"

Draco sneered and started hurling more spells at him; stinging hexes, the jelly leg curse, freezing him mid-shout, he even tried '_Rictusempra'_ and _'Sectumsempra_' completely out of the blue, and even if his heart wasn't in it with hatred _at_ Harry himself, the shame and fear and everything else he had kept bottled up for over a year whilst he lived in the manor with Voldemort came lashing out, tearing Harry's skin apart and letting his own blood stain the flagstones.

Harry let out a cry of sheer agony as his blood poured out of him and stained the floors. He felt his boy convulse and slump down onto the floor, Draco's roaring voice of anger toward his father, Voldemort, the Order, the Death Eaters and the Ministry blurring and distorting in his ears as he sank down onto the floor and let the darkness overwhelm him.

~0~

"_Potter? Potter wake up_," a haughty voice ordered as something cool tapped him sharply on the cheek.

He groaned and cracked an eyelid open the fire burning low and keeping his body from freezing over completely. His body felt heavy and his brain felt as though it was spinning inside his skull. Something was warm and draped over his body and he curled onto his side and into a ball. Then he felt something cool stroke his fringe out of his eyes and realized, with a jolt, why everything was blurry. Someone had taken his glasses off and placed them somewhere safe ... safer than on his face.

"How are you feeling?" Draco's toneless voice resounded in his ears as he continued to stroke the hair out of Harry's closed eyes.

Harry grunted low in his throat. "Like I've been drained," he muttered bitterly.

Draco let out a humourless laugh, "Yeah sorry about that. But I've healed you and there shouldn't be any scarring. I learned it from Severus, so if there is any scarring it should be minimal."

Harry hummed and curled in on himself tighter. He felt drained and damaged and broken and a part of him thought that maybe this was what Draco had been feeling since the end of the war and it had no doubt gotten worse as the days had progressed and no one had offered him a hand of friendship or even understanding. No wonder the blonde was growing defeated and bitter.

Blinking through the blurriness of his own vision, Harry caught sight of Draco sitting by his knees with his hands in his lap and looking into the fire, the light catching in his washed out features and his cried-out eyes. They had both been through a war, two sides of the same coin, and in a way that made them closer than they could be with anyone else. There were things Draco could understand that no one, not even Ginny in her own acclaimed way, could understand. In a way that was a good thing; no one else needed to suffer in the same way they had done.

"Draco," he breathed out in a quiet voice, "Why didn't you go home for Christmas?"

The silence that followed was heavy with tension but he soon exhaled deeply and ran a hand down his face, "There were too many memories for me to go back there. I wanted to stay here for once."

"Why?"

Draco gave a wry little smile, his first in ages it would seem, "Maybe I wanted to see if staying here could make me feel the magic again. But there doesn't seem to be any hope for me in the regard. Not sure I even know what happiness or merriment is anymore. Or if I ever did in the first place."

There it was again, that bitterness.

It ate away at Harry's consciousness like it no doubt ate away at the blonde boy's soul.

They settled in a comfortable silence -or as comfortable as they could get at this point -for a little while before Draco sighed and stood up to stretch his legs, "We can't stay in here all night. The room took a lot out of itself protecting you."

It almost drained Harry to mirror his movements but he felt a little better as soon as he had his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Once they were back outside, and as they watched the door disappear back into the brickwork of the wall, and breathing a little easier, Harry turned to Draco and hesitated for a moment, wondering what to say if they should say anything at all.

Draco sorted the problem out for him; he nodded his head and turned on his heel before walking along to the staircase to make his way back down to the dungeons. Before he reached the stairwell, however, an idea struck Harry. "Wait!" he hurried after Draco, his legs still feeling a little shaky as he went. The blonde stopped and turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. "If you want, we can meet up and duel during the evenings?"

"What for?" Draco asked his tone a little tight and wary.

"For you to vent," he replied evenly, "You have a lot of anger that you need to get out. Don't deny it!" he stated quickly just as Draco was about to retort. He watched, satisfied, as the blonde's mouth clamped shut again. "You need to vent and that's okay. If you want, I can help you with that. We can do it in the room, just as long as there are no cutting curses flying about, alright?"

Draco stared down at him as if he was confused by the proposal. Soon, however, his expression softened a little and his shoulders slumped in resignation before a dry little smile slid over his mouth. "I suppose if you think it would help me. I mean, you've been right so far haven't you?" he murmured.

Harry tilted his head slightly to one side before sighing and extending his hand out for the blonde to shake, "Do we have a deal or not, Malfoy?"

"Alright Potter, you have yourself a deal." He placed his hand into Harry's and tried to ignore the jolt he felt as his first skin-on-skin contact with another human being in months, as it ran through him. Taking his hand back, he stood a little straighter and inclined his head, "See you soon then, Potter."

"You too, Malfoy."

As they had arranged between that evening and that of Christmas Eve they two boys met up in the Room of Requirement to duel with one another. It wouldn't be all night long, although they both tried to go long enough until they were exhausted. They made it a rule that they could curse and yell and scream whatever they wanted during these sessions when they were duelling with one another. In doing so they found out a lot about one another, indirectly of course; Draco found out that Harry hated that Ginny was still sending him letters and many hints about them getting back together and that Harry was far beyond caring what anyone else thought -he didn't want to be with her and that was that. Likewise, Harry had found out that his testimony had kept Narcissa out of prison and had stopped Lucius getting a life-sentence, however the house arrest and restrictions to his magic had made Draco so emotionally challenged that he had now been registered as suffering from clinical depression. Draco had then found out that Harry felt lost with what he was meant to do now as he had been so sure he was going to die, at the same time that Harry found out that Draco's parents had been in talks in marrying him off to some pureblood girl in the year below him, called Astoria Greengrass. Her family had a better social standing at the moment and they hoped she would be a good influence on Draco.

And then came the night that Draco found out that Harry had died, and that he hadn't told anyone else about it.

There really wasn't much else he could possibly say against something as monumental as that, so he had let his wand-arm drop down to his side and breathed deeply, as what he had just said sank in through the angry haze inside Harry's head. He had tried to edge across the room, as though he were approaching an easily spooked unicorn. Harry had bolted anyway, muttering apologies and having tears running down his face that was white with shock. He had fled the room before Draco even had a chance to say anything to him.

He was simply left staring at the space where Harry had been standing. The problem with that was, he had actually seen what Harry meant when he said that he'd died. It was something he lost control over in such an emotional state. He was a skilled Occlumens -he'd had to be, staying in the same house as the Dark Lord -and he'd gotten a very brief flash of what Harry had witnessed upon 'dying'. It hadn't been an image per say, just a flash of whiteness and a platform, but the emptiness and loneliness he'd felt in waves was almost crippling. He'd then been completely overwhelmed with the turmoil he'd felt soaring out of Harry right before the connection between them had been broken.

He'd need to brew a new batch of calming draught for himself but Harry ... Well, it would seem as though he wasn't the only one that needed to be reminded of Christmas.

~0~

It was half past eleven on Christmas Eve and Harry found that he wasn't tired as he sat curled up on the plush red armchair in the common room of Gryffindor tower. He was exhausted from working on his holiday assignments to the point that he'd practically finished all of them. He'd spread a blanket over his lap and stared into the fire as it crackled in the grate. He was so deeply lost in thought that the tapping of a barn owl on the window sill almost made him jump out of his skin.

With a heavy sigh he stood up from the warmth of the armchair and dragged himself over to the stairwell, opened the window and let the owl and a gust of frosty air inside. He shivered and drew his hoodie tighter around him as he unfolded the envelope, the owl hooting and disappearing back through the window without waiting for food or payment of any kind. Odd. He unfolded the little scrap of paper and held it over to the light so that he could read it properly.

'_On the twenty-first day of Christmas Scarhead gave to me, A small dose of reality_,' he frowned wondering what on earth that was supposed to mean when the words faded and he gave a rueful little smile as he watched new words reappear, '_On the twenty-fourth day of Christmas there's a small surprise in store, For scarhead behind a certain closed door._'

Merlin be damned if the bastard wasn't vague enough to pique Harry's interest.

With a sigh he hurried up to the dorms and grabbed his trainers before hurrying back out of Gryffindor Tower, the note burning a hole through his pocket as he made his way along the corridors. The castle was eerie at night, so quiet and empty. He froze as soon as he came face-to-face with the door to the Room of Requirement. He was scared of what lay on the other side of that door. What if it was another difficult duel that left him feeling invaded every which way? What he left feeling like shit and never wanting to see -or follow -the blonde again?

Finally, he swallowed his anxiety and pushed the door inwards.

What he saw on the other side of the door brought fresh tears to his eyes and made his stomach knot in a pleasant manner; tinsel was draped in silver and red and green strands around the smaller area of the room, and adorned the fireplace. Candles stood in small clumps on a few battered old tables in a couple of areas and a large, plush rug had been dragged into the room in front of the fire. Harry sniffed and rubbed at the back of his neck as the door closed behind him.

When Draco turned around to see him, he gave an awkward little smile, "Hey, sorry about this but ... Well, after what you said about seeing Christmas for the first time, I thought that -maybe -we could see another type of first Christmas together."

Harry frowned as he tore his eyes away from the tinsel stars that glimmered from one wall where they were stuck with a sticking charm. "What do you mean? We can't have another 'first Christmas'."

"Yes we can," Draco intoned in a gentle voice as he inclined his head and motioned for Harry to join him over to the fireplace where a bottle of butterbeer stood on the mantle. He took it down and with shaking hands, poured them each a goblet and handed one to Harry. "We can share the first Christmas of us being ... friends," he breathed gently, his eyes averting from Harry's.

Harry looked around the room, at the fire burning in the fireplace, the glimmering stars, the holly on the mantle, and tinsel all over the borders of the room and criss-crossing over at the ceiling. "Do you really think we can be friends after everything?" he asked in a meek voice.

Draco sighed and hunched his shoulders, "Look, it won't be easy, but you've looked out for me a lot and I think I need to return the favour. We can do that if we're friends." He looked at Harry, "I want to be friends, and I want to start the New Year with a better perspective than I've had it the last few months. I don't want to be worried every time I walk through the halls."

"So you want to be my friend so I protect you?"

"See, I knew you'd take that wrong," Draco laughed bitterly and sighed, "No I want to be your friend because you're the only person who saw me when I was invisible. And by the sounds of things," he said slowly, "Having another friend to hang around with might not be such a bad thing for you, since Granger and Weasley are dating now. And it will get his sister away from you for the most part."

Harry thought about it and hummed gently before smiling and taking a sip of his drink. "So we're friends now, are we?"

Draco let out a dry chuckle, "Yeah, I guess so. It's a lot easier than I thought," he stated with a quirked eyebrow. To his surprise, Harry chuckled too as they both settled down against the fireplace, the firelight dancing over Draco's legs. They sipped at their drinks and talked in soft tones about nothing in particular. It was comfortable and calming and a much better way to spend the night.

As they lapsed into silence a hum ran through the room and something sparkled in the corner of the room. Harry turned to look and smiled at what he saw. He nudged Draco's foot with his own and pointed over to the corner, "Hey Draco, look what the room's given us for Christmas."

Draco turned his attention to the corner and a happy smile spread of his mouth, "Wow that's beautiful."

In the corner of the room there now stood a green fir tree that was adorned with silver and pale gold ornaments, twinkling with small fairy lights complete with a glittering star on the top of it. It was beautiful and cheerful and bright in the room, yet subtle in the soft hues around them. Harry took another sip of his butterbeer before sighing contently, "Happy first Christmas Draco."

Draco smiled as he tore his eyes away from the tree to see the content expression on Harry's face. He felt much the same way, "Happy first Christmas Harry." He raised his goblet and they clinked them together.

Of course, their budding friendship didn't mean that it was all smooth sailing from there. Many people were in uproar when they found out and tried to break the companionship apart with hexes, and threats and even a statement in the prophet raised a lot of queries of their saviour turning 'dark'. Despite the fact that both boys said that they didn't care what people said about them, it was hard to keep all the emotions locked up for too long. It got to the point where they would even ask Ron and Hermione, as awkward as it was at first, to help chaperone their duelling stress-relief sessions. Hermione called an early start the first couple of times but soon she got used to it. She didn't agree with it, or condone it, but when it came down to it she ground her teeth and bore it as she watched the two boys vent.

Once she even needed to cast a silencing spell over them at the abuse they hurled at one another. Most of it wasn't aimed at one another, it was simply to exhaust themselves and vent, but sometimes one or the other went too far and they wouldn't see one another for a couple of days.

However, all that was yet to come and for that one moment on Christmas Eve they sat side-by-side in a comfortable silence, watching as the Room of Requirement gave them an early present of a beautifully decorated tree. It honestly was a beautiful tree and in a way, it would symbolize just how strong and grounded their friendship would eventually become. It would have its prickly moments but then no friendship was ever smooth sailing, but they couldn't deny it was an adventure for both of them, and this time it was an adventure that they were both looking forward to going on.

**THE END.**

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><p><strong>AN: Well here's my angsty Christmas one-shot dedicated for FanofBellaandEdward. She likes her angst ;) I haven't written anything 'soft' (for me) in a long time, so I hope you enjoyed this! HOPE YOU ALL HAD A GREAT CHRISTMAS!**


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